


One or the Other

by concavepatterns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Humor, Keith is awkward, M/M, Misunderstandings, Shiro is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 00:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19240252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concavepatterns/pseuds/concavepatterns
Summary: To the left of the cafe is a yoga studio. To the right is a sex shop.The Most Beautiful Man in the World either teaches yoga or sells dildos for a living, and Keith has no idea which one it is.





	One or the Other

**Author's Note:**

> Shiro: Hi
> 
> Keith: I’ve only known him for five minutes, but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself

 

Keith meets The Most Beautiful Man in the World on his second day of work.

It might sound like an exaggeration, but he’s done the customer service thing for a hell of a long time now; served hundreds of people in all varying shapes and sizes. He’s seen the good and the bad. The sweet and the ugly. The polite and the utter, indisputable assholes. So he feels qualified to make the call. And this man...

This man is smiling, brushing the flop of white hair off his forehead and looking wholesome and warm and devastatingly handsome and a thousand other adjectives Keith’s brain can’t even begin to conjure because it’s only 9 a.m. and this definitely wasn’t covered in the ‘Welcome to Coffee Co.’ handbook that’d been thrust into his hands when he took this godforsaken job. He is _so_ unequipped for this.

“Hi,” Tall, Rugged, Really Nice Eyes says, and god, even his voice is perfect.

Keith blinks and manages a rough, “Hey,” in return, trying and failing not to stare at the pink slash of a scar that stretches over the bridge of the man’s nose. It’s surprisingly endearing, but it also floods him with a sudden sense of protective fury; makes him want to hunt down whoever hurt this innocent, handsome being and make them pay in any number of intense and disturbingly violent ways.

He would murder a thousand men without remorse to protect this beautiful, muscular, gentle golden retriever.

All those thoughts of revenge must have him going through a pretty interesting face journey at the moment, because the beginnings of a blush start to creep onto the man’s cheeks and he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, sheepishly asking, “Uh, so could I maybe order now?”

“Oh,” Keith blurts, eyes widening with embarrassment because apparently he’s just been standing there intensely scowling in the man’s general direction for god only knows how long. “Yeah. Right. Coffee, or...?”

“Coffee would be great.” He smiles directly at Keith and Keith has to forcibly twist his whole body away and get working on the order before he ends up staring at that face for another inappropriately long amount of time. Those twinkly eyes combined with that stupidly chiseled jawline are fucking unreasonable. Who even _is_ this guy?

He pours a large, only charges the man for a medium, then hands the coffee over.

Their fingers brush when they exchange the cup and Keith nearly bites his own tongue off. The guy’s hands are huge and broad and warm to the touch. Fuck.

“Thanks,” Unfairly Hot in Every Way says, mouth quirking into a tiny, appreciative smile that makes him look boyishly adorable.

Keith’s heart does some weird, irregular throbbing thing in his chest. He might be dying. He should probably be concerned.

“No problem,” he forces out, not even attempting to smile because he knows it’s only going to come out looking all twitchy and deranged right now. He’s never been much of a people person but fuck, he can usually fake it better than this.

Luckily his stunning customer either doesn’t seem to notice or is too polite to comment on it. Probably the latter. The guy practically exudes humble politeness out of his pores.

With a last little grin the man turns to leave, treating Keith to a view of broad, strong shoulders leading to the kind of ridiculously solid, trim waist that Keith didn’t even know existed outside of men’s health magazines.

Once the guy pushes the door open he pauses, looking back over his shoulder to add, “I’m Shiro, by the way. I work next door, so I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other now.”

He smiles again, warm and friendly and gorgeous, and it’s only after he’s gone that Keith realizes the guy – _Shiro_ \- never specified exactly which ‘next door’.  And that’s a problem. That’s a big problem, because to the left of the cafe is a yoga studio. To the right is a sex shop.

The Most Beautiful Man in the World either teaches yoga or sells dildos for a living, and Keith has no idea which one it is.

“What the fuck,” he says softly to no one.

Yeah. Unequipped is an understatement.

 

* * *

The next time Shiro comes in, he’s wearing black Adidas track pants and a white sleeveless tank that shows off the entirety of his thick, tanned arms.

Keith grips the edge of the counter and tries to keep his intense thirst from showing on his face. God, he wants to bite this man everywhere, get fucked by him until the bed breaks, then wrap him in a blanket and whisper nice things while petting his hair.

It’s seriously disorienting, how Shiro manages to be so innocently cute and devastatingly sexy at the same time. The man defies logic. Probably physics, too.

“So you work out a lot, huh?” Keith tries to subtly fish for information as he pours Shiro’s coffee.  Dressed like that, Shiro’s got to be heading into the yoga studio on the left; Keith’s almost certain of it.

Shiro’s answering smile is like a slow, beautiful sunrise over water. Magnificent. It makes Keith’s heart feel all soft and tender and shit.

“I hit the gym when I can,” Shiro confirms, “but I like to keep things interesting, get my exercise in unconventional ways. It makes for more fun.” He winks, leaning those impressive arms on the counter in a way that makes the muscles in his biceps bulge appealingly.

Oh shit. Keith feels his face go hot and he snatches up the cleaning cloth that’s been resting by his elbow, starting to frantically scrub down the counter just for something to do.

Scratch yoga - that had sexual innuendo written all over it, right? It had to be a nod to his work, and now Keith can’t stop picturing what kind of intense, acrobatic sex Shiro is having in order to get a body that looks like _that_.

His grip on the cloth is tight enough to make his knuckles ache and when Keith finally glances back up, he finds Shiro looking at him, expectant and a little bit curious.

Probably because they’re having a conversation, Keith suddenly realizes, and conversations usually require input from _both_ sides. Shit, he really is terrible at this.

Scrambling for something to say, he finally settles on, “Cool.”

_Cool_.

God, kill him now.

Shiro doesn’t seem to mind his awkwardness though. In fact, he chuckles, and it’s a deep, smooth sound that travels straight to the pit of Keith’s stomach like alcohol, making his head go light and his skin feel warm all over.

Making a fool out of himself is completely worth it if it results in more laughs like that, Keith decides.

“Well, my break’s just about over. I should get back.” Shiro smiles apologetically, picking up his coffee.

“Right. Back to your job. Which is next door,” Keith says, eyes narrowing like he can telepathically will Shiro into telling him exactly what it is that he does.

But instead of offering up any kind of explanation, Shiro simply chuckles again, saluting Keith with a raise of his cup as he heads toward the door. “See you, Keith.”

Keith watches him go, murmuring with a little bit of awe, “He knows my name.”

How did that happen? It must be fate. He’s never considered himself much of a romantic, but fuck, he would marry Shiro _so hard._ That man deserves not only the world but the whole entire universe too, and Keith would goddamn Give. It. To. Him.

He’s still staring at the empty doorway when Lance materializes from the back of the shop, setting a tray of muffins on the counter before rolling his eyes. “You’re wearing a name tag, dingus.”

Without looking, Keith throws the wet cleaning cloth at him. It smacks Lance in the face and he squawks, yelling something about workplace harassment, and Keith feels marginally better.

* * *

 

 

It’s a full week later before Keith sees Shiro again.

This time, Shiro walks in stiff and grimacing, looking far more subdued than his usual bright, genial self. Keith is instantly, deeply concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asks, starting to prep Shiro’s usual coffee without him even ordering.

“Ah, yeah. Thanks,” Shiro flashes a small, brief smile at him, giving off a slight air of embarrassment. “It’s nothing, really. I just pulled a muscle in my back. Must have pushed myself a little too hard the other night.”

Well. That gives Keith a hell of a lot more questions than answers.

“Oh,” he tries to keep his voice neutral even though his insides are screaming, “and do you usually, uh, push yourself hard?”

Shiro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m normally pretty good at knowing my limits, but I couldn’t resist a challenge. Sometimes you want it to burn a little, right?”

Keith makes a strangled noise, nearly dumping hot coffee all over his hand.

“Woah, careful there.” Shiro darts out a hand to steady Keith’s, his big palm and long fingers almost eclipsing Keith’s own, and oh god, they’re touching. They’re practically a step away from _holding hands_.

Keith swallows roughly, staring at where Shiro’s palm is pressing warm and steady against the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he says, voice coming out much softer than he means it to.

For a second Shiro’s hand squeezes, a silent _you’re welcome_ , before he lifts it away completely and Keith immediately mourns the loss.

“Sounds bad if it was enough for you to be off work,” Keith comments worriedly before his brain catches up with his mouth and he realizes what that implies. “Oh. I mean, I assume you were off work because I didn’t see you come in for the last few days. I swear I’m not stalking you or anything-”

“Keith,” Shiro gently cuts off his rambling, meeting Keith’s gaze and fuck, his eyes are especially deep and warm-looking today. Who cares about colour of the year; Pantone should make that their colour of the _century_. Shiro’s Eyes. Keith would paint every room of his house with it. “It’s okay. I did take a few days off to recover, so thank you,” Shiro smiles so softly and sweetly, Keith feels his heart clench like he’s watching one of those SPCA ads for orphaned kittens. “It’s really nice that you care.”

“Of course,” Keith says with every ounce of sincerity he can muster, eyebrows pulling down seriously because what he really means is: _I will protect you with my last dying breath_.

“I’d better head out.” Shiro tilts his head towards the door apologetically, though his eyes still haven’t left Keith’s face. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” Keith nods, feeling his pulse jump at the fact that Shiro wants to see him. Even if he wasn’t already on the work schedule, he would fucking _be here_. “Take care of yourself, Shiro.”

Shiro smiles, reaching out again to briefly touch Keith’s wrist before he goes.

Keith bites his lip and watches him leave, using all his willpower not to vault over the counter and make Shiro stay.

 

* * *

 

 

Their routine continues - Shiro stopping in nearly every day for a drink, Keith internally dying over Shiro’s very existence, the usual - until one random Tuesday when the door to the cafe opens and Shiro comes in with a woman in tow.

She’s tall and thin and the kind of beautiful that makes Keith feel like a dumpster gremlin.

Fuck, is this Shiro’s girlfriend. His _wife_?

With her stylish clothes and silver hair artfully piled up high on her head, she looks like the kind of person who drinks water from a mason jar and has six thousand Instagram followers. Definitely a yogi.

Maybe.

Probably.

Who the fuck knows.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro greets him with his usual warm, broad smile as he approaches the counter.

He’s wearing a dark v-neck shirt today, exposing the length of his throat and a few inches of tanned, smooth collar bone. Keith can’t stop staring at the thick, strong muscle of his trapezius where his neck meets his shoulder. He thinks his mouth would fit there perfectly.

“This is Allura,” Shiro introduces the woman at his side, “we work together. Allura, this is Keith. He makes one hell of a cup of coffee.”

Allura practically beams at Keith. “So nice to meet you.”

Work friends.

Keith releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. God, this is the best news he’s heard all week.  

Still a little flustered from the way Shiro so easily complimented him, he has to clear his throat before he can respond, but it’s easy to return Allura’s smile now that he knows she isn’t his future husband’s current significant other. “Hey, Allura. What can I get you guys?”

“A chai latte, please. And the usual for him,” she says, nudging Shiro in the stomach with her elbow.

Shiro laughs good-naturedly and rubs a hand over the top of his short, dark hair, looking like a walking magazine ad for sheer, effortless male perfection. Fuck.

Keith diverts his eyes, starting to put their orders together. “So you two work together, huh? What’s that like?”

“Oh!” Allura claps her hands together excitedly. “Well, we’re actually planning something very exciting. Next month we’ll be holding a big group retreat over the weekend. You should think about coming! Only if you’re interested, of course.”

Keith looks up from the coffee maker, frowning slightly. “A retreat?”

“We’ll be renting a few cabins out of the city,” Shiro explains. “Hosting workshops, helping each other with techniques, breathing, stamina, that kind of thing. Half of it’s getting into the proper headspace, you know? Of course there’ll also be more advanced stuff like body suspension, but that’s more of Allura’s area of expertise than mine.”

Keith’s brain comes to screeching halt.

“Body suspension,” he repeats slowly while his imagination goes wild, throwing a whole host of crazy-ass images into the forefront of his mind. Jesus, is Shiro actually talking about sex swings as casually as if it were the weather?

The expression on his face must look like a deer in headlights because Shiro chuckles, assuring him, “It’s all perfectly safe, I promise. We teach you how to use all the equipment, and can even explain how to properly install the ceiling hooks.”

“Oh. Great.” Keith says weakly, ducking his head and returning to the safety of his coffee machine. Dear god, what kind of extreme, kinky shit are these people into? So long as it’s safe and consensual he’s not one to judge, but it’s two o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. In a coffee shop. There are _children_ in here.

He gets their drinks made with only a few minor fumbles and while Shiro pays, complete with an intimate amount of eye contact and sincere thanks that leaves Keith’s mouth dry, the back door to the prep kitchen opens and Pidge comes out, carting with her a big tray of pastries meant for the front display case.

She takes two steps forward and freezes, looking from Keith to Shiro to Keith again before she grins, wide and terrifying.

Oh shit.

Keith is never going to hear the end of this.

“Thanks again, Keith,” Shiro’s voice is so warm, Keith wants to roll around in it like a cat in a patch of sunshine. “See you tomorrow?” He pockets his change, smiling hopefully at Keith and Keith’s heart just fucking _melts_.

“Yeah,” despite knowing that Pidge is hearing every word of this, he still finds himself answering in the softer, fond sort of tone he’s started to reserve especially for Shiro. “See you tomorrow, Shiro.”

He returns Allura’s wave as the two of them leave, then sighs, briefly shutting his eyes as he prepares for the incoming Pidge-terrogation.

He gets approximately three seconds of silence to savor before Pidge plops her pastry tray down and dives right in. “ _Wow_ , what was that?”

“Nothing,” Keith answers shortly.

“Nothing?” Pidge repeats, scoffing. “I could cut the tension between you two with a chainsaw. You _like_ him. You should ask him out.”

“He’s just being nice. He probably hates me,” Keith complains, slumping over the counter and burying his face in his arms. “I’m not exactly charming around him.”

Pidge pats him on the shoulder consolingly. “Just give him time to get to know you. Soon he’ll learn that being prickly is just your defense mechanism. You’re like a hedgehog,” she declares thoughtfully.

Keith sputters, head popping up from his arms. “Hey! I’m at least a porcupine. And besides, it’s too late. I’ve already ruined any chance I might’ve had with him.”

One of Pidge’s eyebrows raises skeptically. “Oh? This I need to hear.”

“He works next door,” Keith sighs before elaborating, “except I still don’t know _which_ next door.”

Pidge blinks, clearly unimpressed by Keith’s ongoing saga of tragic pining and agonizing. “That’s it? Why don’t you just ask him where he works?”

“It’s been _two months_ , Pidge,” Keith stresses. “I can’t ask now. He’s going to think I’m stupid.”

“Right,” Pidge says dryly. “Because that ship hasn’t already sailed.”

Keith drops his head back down in despair. “Ugh. Why am I even friends with you?” he mumbles into his shirtsleeve.

“Because your other option is Lance,” Pidge answers promptly without missing a beat.

Ah, right.

That’s why she’s the smart one.

“Okay,” Keith reluctantly concedes, turning to rest his cheek on his hand, “valid point. I’ll talk to him when he comes in tomorrow.”

“Good, now get back to work,” Pidge calls, already on her way back to the kitchen. “You can brood and stack strawberry tarts at the same time. I believe in you!”

* * *

Keith feels on edge all morning, sweaty-palmed and fidgety as he waits for Shiro to make an appearance.

Today’s the day. He’s going to figure out where Shiro works even if it kills him. And it just might, Keith thinks darkly. Death by embarrassment feels like a very real possibility.

It’s a little after eleven o’clock when the front door swings open and Shiro walks in. He’s only coming from next door, literally taking ten steps down the sidewalk at the most, and yet for some reason today he’s wearing aviator sunglasses and a black, fitted jacket.

The universe hates Keith. That’s the only explanation.

When Shiro sees him he grins, pulling off the sunglasses and tucking one of the arms into the neck of his shirt. It should look like a douchebag move, but like everything Shiro does, it only makes him look even more like a casually flawless heartthrob. 

“Keith, hi.” His voice wraps around Keith like a blanket and his eyes sparkle with warmth. Fuck. Keith is not strong enough for this. You’d think he would have built up some kind of immunity by now and yet every interaction with Shiro still leaves him weak-kneed and smitten like the very first time.

“Hey, Shiro.” Keith gives him a genuine smile when Shiro doesn’t hesitate to lean his arms on the counter all comfortable and familiar, like he’s been doing it for ages. Most people are slow to warm up to Keith, but Shiro treats him like they’ve known each other for years. It fills Keith with a surprising amount of touched, appreciative affection. “The usual?”

“Am I that obvious?” Shiro’s mouth quirks up at the side. “Some day I’ll have to change it up, keep you on your toes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with routine,” Keith replies, desperately resisting the urge to reach out and brush the white shock of hair off Shiro’s forehead. Juxtaposed against the hard black of his jacket, it looks extra soft and fluffy today. “I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

That last part just kind of slips out, too distracted by Shiro’s hair to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth.

Fighting a blush, Shiro ducks his head and rubs at the scar across his nose. Keith’s heart threatens to explode in his chest, and when Shiro’s eyes peek back up they’ve gone a shade darker, shining with something that might be gratitude. “Thanks, Keith.”

Emotion always makes him feel weird, so Keith tries to downplay it with a shrug of one shoulder. “Any time.”

It has the desired effect and Shiro laughs a little, the heavier, serious atmosphere around them beginning to lighten as they smile at each other, holding eye contact for what might be an unusually long time, but if anyone has something to say about it, they can bite Keith’s ass.

Fuck, he realizes, now is probably the perfect time to say something.  He promised Pidge he’d do it today, and realistically he knows he can’t keep playing this guessing game forever. Not that it makes much of a difference to Keith whether Shiro’s a fitness instructor or sex enthusiast. His feelings for the guy are still the same, but he figures he _should_ probably know what his future husband does for a living before they’re actually married.

Trying to ignore the growing ball of nerves in his stomach, Keith reluctantly tears his eyes away and busies himself with pouring Shiro’s cup of coffee.

Okay, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. Just pick one. He’s got a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right, after all. Yoga or sex shop. Sex shop or yoga. He can totally do this.

Just. Pick. One.

“So,” he says to Shiro, eyes fixed on the cup in front of him and trying to infuse as much casualness into his voice as possible despite feeling like he’s a second away from having a heart attack, “how’s work going? You busy with those...uh, ropes and butt plugs lately?”

Five full seconds of dead silence tick by in which Shiro stares at Keith like he’s suddenly developed three more heads, then he blinks, swallows, and seems to choke on nothing but air.

“Sorry,” Shiro wheezes, “did you just – did you say _butt plugs_?” He half-whispers the word, like saying it too loud might accidentally alert the Conservative Police and bring them crashing through the door.

Keith frowns. “Uh, yeah? Do you not sell...? Oh.” Oh shit. Oh no. Oh fuck fucking fuck. He picked the wrong one. _He_ _picked the wrong one_. “Shiro,” he says, voice cracking with a desperate kind of utter mortification, “I’m so sorry, I thought – I didn’t know – you said next door, but...”

“Wait, you never knew where I worked? Keith,” Shiro looks startled, letting out a short little laugh of disbelief, “why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I tried!” Keith insists, “but then you’d always say something that sounded so sexual, I thought...I thought you ran the sex store,” he mumbles, face on fire.

“Oh my god.” Shiro covers his face with one hand, blushing equally as hard. He must be replaying some of their previous conversations in his head because suddenly his face morphs into a cross between extreme humiliation and amusement. “I talked about installing hooks in the ceiling! And you thought –”

“I thought you meant sex stuff,” Keith confirms in a low voice, willing the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Shiro groans, both cheeks and the bridge of his nose flushing adorably. “I was talking about the aerial yoga class that Allura teaches! Oh god, you probably thought the whole retreat was some kind of weird orgy thing, didn’t you.”

Keith winces. “Uh...a little?”

Shiro laughs, rubbing a hand over his face before straightening up and looking Keith right in the eye. “Keith,” he says seriously, “All the times I said that stuff, I was trying to flirt with you. That’s why so much of it probably came across as weirdly sexual. I realize that I did a terrible job of it, but-”

“Go out with me,” Keith blurts.

And now they’re both just staring at each other, big-eyed and awkward.

Great.

“Go out with me,” he repeats, sounding more sure of himself now, only because it’s still far too early in their relationship to say ‘I want to have your babies’. “Shiro, I - I’ve liked you for a really long time. Since we first met, honestly, and if you’d like to-”

“Yeah. Yes,” Shiro answers instantly, and if Keith thought he’d seen some fucking beautiful smiles from him before, it’s nothing compared to the grin that encompasses Shiro’s whole face now.

Keith feels like the weight of the entire world has just lifted off his shoulders. The air tastes fresher. Colours look brighter. Fuck, is this what love is like? He could get used to this.

“Good,” he says, voice rough with feeling, “because I want to date you. I want to date you _so hard_.”

Shiro’s blush redoubles but he’s still grinning wide and bright and happy as he leans in closer, elbows balanced on the countertop between them. “I’m completely in favor of that. Keith?”

“Yeah?” Keith breathes, leaning forward on his own elbows until they’re almost nose to nose. His heart is pounding and as he wets his lips, he sees Shiro’s eyes dip down to track the movement.

Shiro lets out a shaky breath, voice gone all gravelly as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Keith grins, tipping his face up until their lips are almost touching. “I’m completely in favor of that,” he echoes, teasing, and then they’re both smiling like idiots as Shiro cups the side of his face and finally nudges their mouths together.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> On their one-month anniversary, they visit the sex shop together. Within 10 minutes, Keith has a full armload of stuff he wants to try. Shiro's face stays red the entire time.  
> "I can put it all back if it makes you uncomfortable," Keith tells him, but Shiro just shakes his head and steps in closer, resting his palm low on Keith's back and awkwardly murmuring, "Can we, ah, go look at the flavored lube?"
> 
> IT’S LOVE, YOU GUYS.


End file.
